The dying bird

Such dignity in such a small creature.

It trembled in my hand, and then rebelled.

It quieted down and closed its beautiful, febrile eyes.

I felt it breathe and pulsate

dysrhythmically:

death announcing itself in its listless wings

(sleeping little head

buried

in the occasional, subtle ruffling of breast feathers).

Because of you I renew my faith,

I renew my essence.

I regenerate

my capacity to love and to accept

those judgments and verdicts

bestowed upon us

by astral,

arbitrary,

unyielding wills

divorced from all rationality

but

indispensable

in maintaining the balance,

the status quo

the Universe itself,

its equilibrium.

All I ask

is for you not to suffer,

that you may fly serene and freely

in otherworldly skies…

I ask that you not be devoured

while still alive

by a hapless, hungry beast

tending only

to its own instincts,

and the piercing demands

of self-subsistence

compelled

by the foreseeable victory

of thrusting jaws

over flightless feathers.

I ask that I never stop

feeling,

loving,

receiving by giving,

that your memory will beat

forever

in my heart.